


Layers

by Chazzam



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 19:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2883578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chazzam/pseuds/Chazzam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic is told in missing scenes during The First Time (season 3, ep 5). Mostly feelings, thoughts and ruminations on the part of both boys as they contemplate the events of the episode and their imperfect journey toward intimacy. A bit of angst and some sweet feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Layers

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr under the name "One Fight" as part of the Interlude Press One Story Fic Project. This fic is a tip of the hat to Shiftings, the very first Klaine fic I ever wrote, back in April of 2011. The story, quite literally, that changed my life and put me on the career path I am on today. This is not a Shiftings ‘verse fic (that ‘verse has been wrapped up for years), but it is structurally similar to Shiftings, and those of you familiar with that fic will probably understand (and hopefully appreciate) the connection.
> 
> Many heartfelt thanks to Klainescoffeeorder for the beta, and I hope you all enjoy the fic! :)

 

One Fight Can Change Everything.

It wasn’t as if he and Blaine had never fought before; there was the Rachel Berry Fiasco after all, and that one argument they’d had about PDA that summer at the lake (Blaine hadn’t even been drunk for that one), but those issues had been clean, simple, easy to resolve.  Kurt could concede that his attitude toward bisexuality had been perhaps a bit (fine, a lot) offensive, when what he was really reacting to was the idea of losing Blaine to Rachel, and Blaine could concede that he hadn’t been sensitive enough to Kurt’s nervousness about making out in a public place, even if they  _were_ in a dark copse of trees and he was pretty sure no one could see them.

But that had been it, really.  Banter about fashion and reality TV and card games and what snacks to make didn’t count.  Especially when said banter generally ended in kissing or giggling or both.

This was different.

After Blaine left him in the Scandals parking lot, Kurt didn’t know what to do.

He spent a good ten minutes sitting in Blaine’s car, turning the cologne that had been sitting in the cupholder over in his hands.  It was Blaine’s cologne, a tiny bottle of [Neroli Portofino](http://www.sephora.com/neroli-portofino-P378133?skuId=1489384&om_mmc=ppc-GG&mkwid=ldgvBYcN&pcrid=49113163959&pdv=c&site=us_search&country_switch=us&lang=en&gclid=CjwKEAjwyYCgBRCMmbWl5beV_RQSJABESqHAYhUAwKM4zQ9axdUWNQSYgazt__OnmXO0ZbgWlNz82BoCiynw_wcB) that Kurt loved, and the faint echo of it hit his nose in little wisps and bursts as the cracked window of the car moved the air around.  Kurt considered opening it and breathing deep, immersing himself in a Blainelike comfort, even if Blaine wasn’t there himself to provide it.  But instead he just held it, fingers sliding over the smooth glass of the bottle as he stared out the windshield and replayed the evening over and over again in his mind, wondering how exactly he had let it go so wrong.

When nothing solid came to mind besides a cycle of bitter self-recrimination ( _why did I let that human rodent get to me, why did I think I could hold my own at a place like this, why can’t I ever just relax and be cool about_ ** _anything,_** _and why did I let that jerk_ ** _get_** _to me),_ and frustration with Blaine (because  _honestly)_ , he finally gave up, put the car into gear, and headed toward Blaine’s house; his own car was there, after all, and he didn’t want to make Blaine walk back to Scandals in the morning with a hangover.

Ok, fine, so a  _tiny_  part of him might have wanted to make Blaine walk back to Scandals in the morning with a hangover, but he knew he could never really bring himself to punish Blaine like that.

He didn’t cross paths with Blaine on the way back.  Blaine had probably taken that poorly-lit shortcut through the park, and Kurt tried not to let  _that_  worry him on top of everything else. God, they should both be in bed by now, skin pink and freshly exfoliated, the taste of “I love you” still on their lips before they finally forced themselves to hang up and go to sleep.

He killed the engine after pulling into Blaine’s driveway, turned off the headlights and leaned back in the driver’s seat, letting the familiar looming form of Blaine’s house shape itself against the darkness as his eyes adjusted.

Maybe he should have just done it.

Sebastian was more than a little obvious in his intent, would have sunk to his knees and blown Blaine right there in the Scandals parking lot if Blaine had let him.  Would have bent Blaine over, or let Blaine bend  _him…_

Kurt shifted uncomfortably in his seat, caught between rage and jealousy and embarrassment and self-recrimination and, horrifyingly, slight arousal.  Sebastian may have been sleazy and smug and about as trustworthy as a cat at a fish market, but he wasn’t  _boring._   He wasn’t a prude.  Sebastian would never make his boyfriend wait more than half a year before taking things below the belt (hell, Sebastian probably wouldn’t make his boyfriend wait half a  _day_ ).  And as much as Blaine had reassured Kurt (“this is what we both want, I promise,” “I want you to be comfortable so that I can be comfortable”, “this really means something to me, Kurt, I want us both to be sure”), his actions tonight had clarified a few things to a truly painful degree.

What was clear, first of all, was that Blaine was ready for more.  If Kurt was going to be honest with himself, he’d known that for awhile, and if he was going to be even  _more_ honest with himself, he didn’t really understand what he was afraid of anymore.  Beneath all their maturity and mutual respect were a couple of horny teenaged boys, and the things that Kurt thought about at night when he touched himself made it clear that his body was ready, if not his mind (“ _that’s why they invented masturbation,”_ he couldn’t help but hear in the echo of his mind, and he flushed hot at the images it stirred up).  His heart was ready too; not to lose his virginity to a drunk Blaine in the Scandals parking lot, of course, but for that level of connection.  That level of vulnerability.

His head—his head was the problem.  Because what if…what if, what if, what if.

What if Blaine wasn’t as attracted to Kurt after he saw him naked?  What if Kurt made embarrassing noises that totally turned Blaine off?  What if he was terrible at it?  What if he just wasn’t  _sexy_ enough for Blaine (“ _do you have gas pains?”_  oh, god, Kurt would  _die_ ).  Blaine was…Blaine was like Western Ohio’s  _Alpha Gay_ or something.  He could pretty much have any guy he wanted, and Kurt…well, Kurt was fabulous, and Blaine was in love with him, and the sheer  _want_ in Blaine’s eyes (not to mention his pants) when he made out with Kurt could not be disputed.  But Kurt was still…Kurt.  He was awkward sometimes, he got flustered easily, and according to Beiste and Ms. Pillsbury and Artie (and probably everyone else who’d ever met him, who was he kidding) he was about as masculine and imposing as Casper the friendly ghost.  What if he simply wasn’t  _man_ enough for Blaine in bed, especially when Blaine saw what else was on offer?

Blaine didn’t love Sebastian, true, but Kurt would have been blind if he didn’t see that Blaine wanted him.  At least a little bit.  What if Sebastian had something that Kurt could never offer Blaine?  What if Kurt shed that last protective layer of himself with Blaine, both literally and figuratively, only to discover that he’d never been quite enough all along?  Kurt wasn’t sure if he’d ever find a way to come back from that.

Kurt trusted Blaine.  He did.  He just wasn’t sure if he completely trusted himself to completely trust Blaine.

He leaned his head back against the headrest and groaned out loud.  He wasn’t even making sense to himself anymore.

A light tap on the window beside him startled Kurt out of his thoughts, and he glanced up to see Blaine peering in at him, face unreadable in the dim porchlight that barely illuminated the driveway.

Kurt pulled the keys out of the ignition and climbed out of the car. “Here,” he said softly, handing the keys to Blaine. “I didn’t just want to leave them in the car, and your house keys are on here too, so.”

“Thank you,” Blaine muttered, eyes not meeting Kurt’s.  There was still a trace of anger in his voice, but Kurt recognized it as the defensive anger Blaine projected when he was feeling utterly disgusted with himself.  When he got like this, it was as if letting in even a shred of outside criticism would destroy him completely.

Kurt knew that he could easily prod his way through it, that Blaine would quickly deflate into heartfelt remorse as long as Kurt didn’t try to beat down Blaine’s wall with anger of his own, but Blaine was drunk.  It wouldn’t be fair to him to have this conversation when he was at such a disadvantage.

“Maybe…we can talk tomorrow?” Kurt ventured.

“Yeah,” Blaine answered, looking down at the keys in his hands.

Kurt began walking toward his Navigator, but paused, because they couldn’t end the night like this. Not like  _this._

“I love you,” Kurt said, and Blaine looked up at him with a start.

“I love you too.”  And oh, his voice was thick and his eyes were wet, and Kurt  _yearned_  to wrap Blaine up in his arms.

But…no.  That would probably just end up in a drunken attempt at conversation, or a drunken attempt at kissing, and things were fragile enough between them that Kurt didn’t want to make it even worse.  Instead he smiled, a little sadly, and climbed into his car.

Blaine watched him drive away.                      

* * *

That fight had changed everything.

Blaine woke up on Thursday morning with a pounding headache and an unfocused sense of dread.

He had royally fucked something up. He was certain of it before he was even awake enough to remember what had happened.

Then he remembered, and he closed his eyes again and groaned.

What the hell was wrong with him?

When things got hard, why did he always run?  And worse than that, how had he let himself run from _Kurt?_

And, god—it was like a gut-punch, revisiting the events of the previous evening from a sober perspective.  He had felt so justified in being upset with Kurt last night, had felt so wounded by Kurt’s refusal and Kurt’s anger.  He’d just wanted to kiss him, just wanted to  _be_ with him, and Kurt had  _yelled_ at him.  Like Blaine was just another person trying to hurt him.  Like he didn’t trust Blaine.  Like he didn’t  _know_ that Blaine would never do something like that.

But of course Kurt didn’t know.  Because Blaine did hurt him.  He did disregard Kurt’s feelings, and he’d been doing it all night.  He had no right to be angry with Kurt, absolutely none at all, and it was so clear now that it literally made bile rise up in his throat.

Probably the only reason he didn’t immediately feel the need to empty his stomach was that he also remembered how Kurt had left things at the end of the night.   _I love you._ So at least Blaine probably hadn’t fucked things up beyond repair.  If he was lucky.

He willed himself to fall back asleep so that he could escape the consequences of his actions for just a little bit longer, so that he wouldn’t have to start thinking about how to make it right when he was too disgusted with himself to even know where to start.

But all he could see behind closed eyes was Kurt’s face, hurt and angry and utterly  _disappointed._  Even the snooze button wasn’t going to let Blaine off the hook for this one.

At breakfast, he stared at his phone.  He should call Kurt. Text him. Something.

And say what?   _I’m sorry I tried to  turn what should have been a life-changing act of intimacy into something quick and dirty in the back of my car?  I’m sorry I got drunk and didn’t even notice the way I let Sebastian keep flirting with me? I’m sorry I was all over you like that?  I’m sorry I made you feel like shit?_

Or maybe the heart of it all:  _I’m sorry I let you see how much of a screw-up I really am._

Kurt was so careful with his own heart, and the fact that he’d let Blaine in this much, that he’d laid himself as bare as he already had, was incredible and terrifying and overwhelming.  And Blaine had tried so much to show Kurt that he deserved it, to even allow  _himself_  to believe that he deserved it.  But now?

God, he’d be lucky if he even got to see Kurt without his shirt on for another six months.  Blaine had failed, and the layers were going back on, both literally and figuratively.

It wasn’t just the physical though (no matter how much he loved the physical, loved Kurt’s soft skin and firm muscles and shaking gasps).  Blaine would embrace the opportunity to do no more than hold Kurt’s hand and kiss him chastely if it meant that their emotional intimacy wouldn’t move backward.  It had taken Kurt so long to trust Blaine as much as he did, to  _really_ let him in, and the hurt he had seen in Kurt’s eyes last night was like a door slamming in Blaine’s face.

Blaine had done that.  He had hurt Kurt, had made him feel like he’d rather be with someone who would just hop into intimacy like it was no big deal, someone like  _Sebastian._

Sebastian.  Who Blaine hadn’t done enough to discourage. Who Kurt seemed to believe was actually some sort of competition.

Sebastian, who was texting Blaine right now.

Blaine groaned, kneading his temple with one thumb as he opened the message with the other.

_Hey, tiger.  How you holding up this morning? Was that trouble in paradise I heard in the parking lot last night? ;)_

Rage surged through Blaine at the obvious implication.  God, no  _wonder_ Kurt was pissed.

Blaine began half a dozen snarky replies before accepting the fact that he couldn’t really bear to be less than polite.

_Doing OK.  Coffee is helping. And Kurt and I are fine, just a little misunderstanding.  Hope you and the guys can make the show tonight!_

Blaine rolled his eyes even as he hit send. “Blaine Anderson, you suck,” he muttered to himself as he finished his breakfast.      

* * *

Blaine avoided Kurt all day, which only made him feel worse. But he  _had_ to get into character, had to focus on getting  _something_ right. His actual life might have been a mess, and he might not have gained the life experience necessary to channel enough passion into the role, but he had to do what he could.  If nothing else, he was a performer.  And he knew that if he saw the disappointment and hurt in Kurt’s eyes (however much he may have deserved it) in the sober light of day, he would lose whatever slim chance he had of actually pulling this off.

He politely deflected several more texts from Sebastian (and none whatsoever from Kurt) before finally turning his phone off before the show.

When he caught Kurt’s eye backstage, they exchanged awkward smiles and softly wished each other good luck and Blaine couldn’t bear it. He all but  _ran_ to put on his makeup, to transform himself into someone completely different.

And then he screwed up that step.  He recovered quickly, but he’d screwed it up and everyone had seen him.  Everyone had watched in silent judgment as Kurt quietly shone in a part far smaller than what he deserved, and Blaine failed at the enormous opportunity that had been all but handed to him.  He knew he was good, knew he’d nailed most of it ( _soul mates,_ Rachel had said, and yes, she was right, and he was singing to Kurt, had been singing to Kurt all along, and sex couldn’t make him love Kurt more; why the hell had he listened to Artie in the first place?), but that step.

That freaking  _step._   That step reminded Blaine that just because he was good didn’t mean he was good enough.

Except, “ _you take my breath away.”_ Except, “ _I was so proud to be with you.”_

Except, when Kurt called him perfect he couldn’t help but believe it was true.

And then Kurt said “I want to go to your house,” and suddenly Blaine knew.

Those layers weren’t coming back.  Blaine hadn’t set things back. Hadn’t ruined them.  Instead, something had opened up in Kurt, because Kurt trusted him that much, trusted Blaine with his naked body and his naked heart, trusted him no matter how much he’d screwed up.

Because Kurt believed Blaine was worth it.

On the way out of the auditorium, Blaine vaguely noticed a tall, sandy-haired figure in a Warblers uniform leaning against the wall, stepping forward to talk to him.

Blaine didn’t even stop to say hello.  He only had eyes for Kurt.

 


End file.
